Out of Darkness
by Spyd3r890
Summary: In Rashemen, they say there are dreamers and thinkers. When Cairn Vinduil, a fey'ri, a dreamer, meets an elven bard, with beauty to rival Sune's, where will his dreams lead him? Chapters 1 and 2 undergoing rewrite
1. Chapter 1

"Cairn… Cairn!" The fey'ri slowly sat up, shoulder-length ebon tresses falling to frame his handsome, angular face, "Oh, thank Eilistraee you're up. Guess what?" Cairn Vinduil, the leader of the Crimson Gauntlet sellsword company, looked at her, a thin eyebrow raised and smoldering reddish-orange hues fixed on the slender, taut drow female sitting by the bed, her slim hands on his shoulders. The fighter simply stretched out slender, but tightly-muscled arms and yawned, his batlike dark-crimson wings unfurling and stretching to their farthest along with the action.

"I assume it either has something to do with work, or that Arlin has broken another farmgirl's heart, and thus we have to leave." The leather-clad dark elf simply grinned and nearly bounced out of the room, leaving the half-demonic Cairn to sigh and gather his trusted magical bastard sword, Bayurel, named after the blade carried by Mariabronne the Rover, a hero of his. Once the sheathed blade was held in his right hand, the left-handed fighter donned a special jerkin that he wore beneath his usual shirt and chain tunic. The vest held potent magics in it, allowing Cairn to assume the appearance of a gold elf, albeit one with strange eyes and delicately-pointed canines. The fey'ri, now unencumbered by his large wings, easily dressed in loose brown trousers and a dark green shirt with but one baggy sleeve, testing his left arm's range of motion before nodding contentedly. Then came the short-sleeved chain mail tunic, with plate-mail shoulders, and his twin gauntlets, dark red as blood. These elbow-length full plate gauntlets, enspelled to allow him to intercept most minor spells and recast them himself, were the namesake of his company; they were the fighter's claim to fame, besides his penchant for using normally-useless cantrips in combat to creative potency.

Once Cairn made his way downstairs from his room, a magical bag slung over one shoulder holding the majority of his belongings. In the inn's common room were Zarra Ith'Lorizn, a drow shadowdancer who followed Eilistraee's teachings; Jena Armelia, a half-elf Silverstar of Selune and a lethal shot with a crossbow; Arlin Erigo, a sorcerer with a penchant for stealing hearts and breaking them after trysts, armed with a wicked-bladed, red-glowing scythe; and finally, Tarathiel Liiril, a sun elf fighter who venerated the Red Knight, goddess of war and strategy, two areas both he and Cairn were considered geniuses at, armed with the Ayuvir, a sentient, intelligent mithral longsword with a special hatred for the undead, and with its owner's same devotion to discipline.

"You're late, Boss." Arlin remarked with a smug grin, his purple robes settling about him as he leant on a nearby wall, toying with his mithral dagger. Jena just scoffed at Arlin's lackadaisical manner,

"You imbecile! If it weren't for you trying to empty a town guardsman's pockets, we wouldn't be in such straits as to be banished from the town!" Cairn just sighed, the pairs' conflicting ethics when it came to law and disorder, as well as Jena's strong goodly streak and Arlin's lack of caring about such concepts, often caused the cleric and the sorcerer to butt heads, "But guess what, Cairn? It seems that the Flaming Fist, in Baldur's Gate, has asked us to search some caves near the Gate." Cairn nodded some, and took stock of his party,

"How fast can we get some horses?" Here, Tarathiel slowly raised one gauntleted hand,

"I've already procured mounts for our journey." _And I've convinced the half-orc at the outfitting store to put some adventuring supplies and a magic bag aside for us, _the sentient longsword added, using its telepathic ability to speak into the party's minds.

"Good work. Zarra, any word from the Dancing Lady on weather for the next tenday?" Here, the drow looked at him, her face slightly heating,

"W-well… Eilistraee was rather confused as to why I would commune with her on such a subject, but she's spoken with gods better versed on such matters and has assured me she's made sure the next tenday will be optimal riding conditions." The fey'ri clapped her on the shoulder and headed to the inn's front counter, paying for the week's rooms they'd rented.

That's when he heard it, the shouts of an angry mob, led by a half-orc that Arlin had obviously stolen from. Cairn spun about suddenly, smoldering hues taking in the mob's number. Tarathiel beat him to his conclusion, "There is too many of them, many innocents swept up in the mob's hate! We ride!" None of the tightly-knit friends argued, and the innkeeper, a portly human of less-than-desirable height, led them to the back door. There, as the elf had promised, were five sturdy horses, plus a sixth, a Clydesdale strong enough to carry all the party's gear and more. With a loud, "Hah!" from the mercenary leader, the mounts sped off, out of the small town.

This was what Cairn enjoyed most about adventuring: Riding at high speeds, the wind whipping his face and blowing his hair back. However, there was no time to enjoy the feeling, with an entire town on the party's heels, shouting many accusations, "thief" least among them. Silently, the half-demon thanked Tymora countless times that Tarathiel had gotten them horses of the finest nature—then he thanked Tymora the small town was famous for their mounts. _I suppose those supplies will simply have to wait for the next town, then?_ Cairn just chuckled, leave it to Ayuvir to lament the loss of adventuring supplies when their lives were at risk. Suddenly, from behind, he heard Zarra shout, "Gnolls!" The exclamation brought the party to a halt, and each of them hopped off their horses, weapons in hand. Arlin began casting a spell that would protect the party, should the evil creatures seek to close into melee. Jena readied her crossbow, a lighter make composed of driftwood and with a sinew taken from a dragon's wing muscle for the bowstring. Cairn and Tarathiel snuck towards the gnolls, while Zarra used her talents as a rogue and a shadowdancer to effortlessly blend in with the nearby shadows, moving in the way only drow can, making not a sound. A thin, near-invisible wire was held in her hands, and the fey'ri saw her lips move to form an unspoken, "Eilistraee forgive me," before she strangled an unsuspecting gnoll. A _click_ issued forth from Jena's crossbow, as a bolt buried itself in a second gnoll's throat, then disappeared, back on the crossbow and in firing position.

At this point, the gnolls had taken up arms, and the drow was hard-pressed, dual daggers working furiously to deflect crudely-crafted axes and longswords that came in from nearly all sides. Then, Zarra spotted a tiny sphere of red light lazily wafting over to her. She knew Arlin had targeted her for his fireball spell, and she knew her near-supernatural evasive tactics would allow her to avoid the ensuing blast without a scratch. Indeed, when the small sphere neared her, and exploded into a violent inferno, incinerating the gnolls, the shadowdancer leapt high into the air and performed a series of twists, turns, and flips that allowed her to stay one step ahead of the explosion, landing easily on the balls of her feet, unmarred by the blast, in a fighting crouch not a foot outside the fireball's radius.

Cairn and Tarathiel, though, were hard-pressed, and the fey'ri lacked the space or the time needed to use any of his spells. Instead, the two fighters nodded at once, picked a direction, and charged, hefting their blades and cleaving a path through the crowd of gnolls, a path back to Arlin and Jena. The sight of the two apparently-mad elves—for Cairn's vest still held, his wings nonexistent for the moment and his tail with them—carving through the dog-headed beasts began to take its toll on the monsters' morale, and very soon some of the gnolls began to desert, running for safety. In the center of the horde of gnolls, where the fighters once were, now was occupied by terrified gnolls, running away from the viciously-attacking illusory Cairn, bare-chested and wielding a bastard sword not unlike the originals. The leader just laughed, seeing how Arlin's painfully-created spell—which blended a shadow conjuration and a fear spell—wreaked havoc on the gnoll ranks, causing more to desert. Soon, the rapid _click-click-click _of the half-elf cleric's crossbow began to sound, as Jena's bolt found more and more lives to end, and returned to the crossbow it fired from instantaneously. What happened next, though, surprised him, for the Clydesdale that had carried their extra belongings plunged straight into the gnoll band, crushing skull and foot alike in its rush to protect the party that had treated it so well,

"_Tarathiel! Protect the horse!_" The fey'ri shouted in the High Elven dialect, a mutual language between the two friends. The fine-featured gold elf nodded, and swung Ayuvir left and right, clearing a path for Shan to make to safety. Suddenly, getting an idea, Cairn flashed his hand rapidly in the drow hand sign language, something they all learned from Zarra, thanks to its rarity on the surface, _Tarathiel, make sure not one gnoll touches Jena or Arlin. Zarra, focus on distracting the Chieftain. Arlin! Pay attention you idiot. Do you have any room left for a cone of cold? _

_Aye, one freezing cone coming up. _Arlin remarked, moving behind the majority of the gnolls, and beginning the gestures for the spell Cairn had in mind. The mercenary commander was on the other side of the pack, mirroring Arlin's gestures, hoping the other three would be able to hold the dog-faced monsters off long enough.

((Yep It'll be continued in the next chapter, figured I'd do this to irritate the readers (laughs) Because I'm evil like that. Well, what do you guys think? Should I drop the story or see it through to the end?))


	2. Chapter 2

CH2

The gnoll chieftain's nearsighted eyes focused on the dark elf before him, snorting and hefting the massive warhammer he used to kill the previous chieftain. The drow that slowly advanced on him had two daggers in her hands, and wore leather armor that the powerful gnoll didn't doubt held magic. "Stop the mage!" He barked out to the gnolls he commanded, and many turned to advance on the purple-robed one. What happened next stunned the fighter, for the drow he'd been keeping an eye on suddenly dropped her weight, crouched, and shot one booted foot out into the large gnoll's groin. A loud, high-pitched shriek escaped the chieftain as the female's heel connected soundly with his pride, bringing the gnoll to his knees. As soon as his knees hit the ground, pain exploded in the beast's head as one eye suddenly shut out. The commotion had prevented the dimwitted monster from hearing the soft _click_ from the cleric's crossbow.

"Uh… Tarathiel! I could use a little guarding here!" Arlin shouted as he backed up, still performing the gestures for the cone of cold. However, the shout wasn't needed; the elf was already hurling throwing knives into the gnolls nearest the sorcerer. Jena, too, focused on protecting the purple-clad man, her bolt hitting home again and again. Arlin nodded his thanks, and held both hands out, at the exact time as Cairn did. The two unleashed cones of freezing-cold air, focused from their palms outward, and the two overlapping spells created a sphere in the center, rendering the majority of the horde frozen solid. The chieftain remained kneeling, both hands pressed against the bleeding eye socket. Calmly, Arlin moved over to it, and hefted his scythe, looking to Cairn expectantly. Zarra turned and buried her face in Jena's shoulder, not wanting to see what was sure to come next, and put her hands over delicately-pointed ears. Once he'd made sure Zarra wouldn't have to put up with the execution, the fey'ri sighed and nodded, chopping his hand down. Expressionlessly, Arlin swung the scythe downwards, and decapitated the gnoll chieftain in one fell movement. The leader's heart squeezed as he heard the kindhearted drow sob once; the shadowdancer regarded murder as a great injustice, unless there was no chance it could be avoided.

The party rode on, wordless, Jena and the drow side-by-side, the former comforting the latter. Arlin was slightly separated from the party, as usual, staring straight ahead. Cairn could never figure out what went through his head… and oftentimes the fighter didn't want to know. He suspected Arlin of some mild madness, but he was in no hurry to prove himself right or wrong. Tarathiel had ridden ahead, keeping his eyes on the woods to either side of the road, in case any more bandits sought to waylay the bandits. _Three goblins to the left, two and a shaman to the right_, the elf informed the party once he returned. The fighter rode over to Shan, and produced his longbow and an arrow, at the same time Jena readied her crossbow and took aim. Cairn looked to Zarra and Arlin,

_The two of you, follow me, we'll keep them occupied until Jena and Tarathiel can finish them off_, he signed Drow and human nodded, and the fey'ri led them off, into the woods. The rogue pulled off, knowing she'd only impede the two spellcasters in their work.

The battle, as it was, took little time if any at all. The two sorcerers had cast fear spells on the goblins, and then Cairn used a cantrip to freeze the ground in the ugly little beasts' path, causing them to sip and fall. From their prone positions, the goblin band was easily picked off by the elf and the cleric. Zarra had no qualms when Cairn finished off the shaman as the ugly monster attempted a final spell, for she rationalized that if he hadn't killed it, they would at least be injured.

Again the party rode on, before the drow cried out joyfully, riding past them and pulling her mount to a halt at the top of one hill, "Baldur's Gate…" the rogue said softly, watching the sun rise, with the port city set against it, "it's beautiful." Jena rode up alongside her, grinning,

"Aye, and in the right places the interior matches the view." Here, Arlin rode up to the drow's other side, looking over to Zarra. An unspoken apology, acceptance, and forgiveness passed between the two, before the two fighters came to join them. Cairn spoke up first,

"Okay…Jena, you said we'll meet our employer at the Elfsong, yes?" The half-elf couldn't take her stare from the scenery before her,

"Yes. Cairn, when are we going to go back to Rashemen?" The fighter looked over at her, surprised. By all accounts, Jena had joined the small band to _leave_ that country. _Sadly, our fearless leader has had his fill of his homeland, it seems._ Ayuvir piped up, its tone wry, teasing.

"Oh, hush, or I'll have you melted down and used for a walking stick," Tarathiel chided, half-joking. _I'll be good._ Cairn simply stared out at the port city, famous for a string of events set shortly after the Times of Troubles. Turning that unnatural gaze back to his companions, the fey'ri made a decision and urged his horse forward.

---

On the other side of Faerun, in Rashemen's bitter cold, a pale elf wrapped herself tightly in a fur-lined wool cloak, shivering, "For Tymora's sake," the fair-haired elf lamented, "Why does your land have to be so bloody _cold_?" The stout, white-haired dwarf next to her laughed heartily, and slapped her on the back,

"Bah! You're just used to the warmer lands, pointy-ears!" The elf cast vibrant green eyes over to him,

"At least you don't stink, O Bearded One…" she muttered, before deciding it wouldn't be an intelligent endeavor to speak with her teeth chattering as they were, she relied very much upon her voice and ability to form words. It simply wouldn't do to bite half her tongue off. _I swear, when I get back to Waterdeep, I am not moving one foot for a tenday, at least!_ The thought brought comfort to the miserably-cold moon elf. She promised herself she would hire a servant just for that period, to wait on her hand, foot, and head if need be. The cloak-covered female decided she'd pass the time by shivering, since the dwarf obviously wasn't in a talkative mood. Just as well, the elf didn't want to die out here irritated as well as frozen.

"Oy there! Are you alright, miss?" The call came from outside the firelight the elf and the arctic dwarf had struck. The bard, in a foul mood thanks in great part to the chill, shouted back,

"No, I'm cold, miserable, and I hurt! Now get over here and rescue me!" The bushes around them rustled, and a tall, solid man clad in gleaming full plate led a roan-colored horse into view. The seven stars and flowing river, the symbol of Mystra, goddess of magic, adorning the chest of his mithral mail, as well as the way the mail gleamed—it seemed to shed a light of its own—left little doubt in the bard's mind, she and the dwarf were looking at a paladin, a crusader. The dwarf next to her guffawed, slapping the elf on the back,

"Bah! 'Tis only that goody-two-shoes Roland, and his little packhorse." The paladin just sighed, he'd gotten used to the dwarf's teasing demeanor, he was almost gnomelike in his whimsical nature.

"Very funny Korgan. So, this is the bard that the Rashemi have been looking so hard for, is it?" Roland began walking towards the shivering elf, resting one gauntleted hand on her head, and whispering to himself. Suddenly, the bard noticed she didn't feel the chill anymore. A weak smile found her lips,

"Thank you. Now, can we get out of this godsforsaken country? I could go for a couple weeks in Amn, personally." Again, Korgan burst out laughing,

"You elves, always complaining. Come on, pointy-ears, where's your sense of adventure?"

"In Amn, obviously." the handsome knight replied, "If you recall, hasn't Athkala recently dealt with problems concerning a certain Bhaalspawn and a mad mage?

"Aye, they just finished that little fiasco, I heared two o' his friends stuck back 'ere." The bard spoke up at length,

"Didn't Abdel travel with a drow and two Rashemi?" Again, Roland nodded,

"He did. I believe he and the drow, the last surviving DeVir on the surface, remained in one another's' company for some time. As for the Rashemi, only the berserker returned. I fear the Rashemi mage died, before the entire Spellhold incident." The moon elf listened intently through the paladin's explanation,

"Oh, give me a month with this man, I'll make a bard of him yet." She muttered to her dwarf companion, who just shrugged and grinned.

The three left the following morning, with the elf atop Roland's horse, the knight easily holding the reins in his left hand. Korgan whistled lightheartedly, urgosh held at ready in both hands. The usually howling winter winds were silent, the chirping of winter birds accompanying the sound of footsteps and horse hooves hitting the dirt road. After what seemed like an eternity, the light-haired paladin looked up, "By the way, Lady Bard, what did you say your name was?" The elf was silent, the hood of her cloak pulled low. At length, she spoke up,

"Larynna." Roland nodded, as though he'd forgotten. He hadn't, really, the bard hadn't given her name to begin with. The three spoke of lighter things, and Korgan's unending repertoire of dwarven drinking songs, as well as Larynna singing the songs she'd grown up with in Evermeet, allowed the time for the three to pass rather quickly.

---

"What the bloody hell do you mean there's no bloody damn vacancy?!" Arlin demanded, glaring at the ugly innkeeper. Cairn just sighed, this had to be the fourth inn they'd visited that refused them service. He didn't blame them, even though he looked like any regular gold elf, Zarra was most definitely a drow, a race with a deservedly evil reputation.

"Wot I mean, guv, is I ain't 'bout to give no room to no reeking drow." the innkeeper said calmly. Cairn moved forward, sighing again,

"Arlin, go join the others. Innkeeper, what do you mean you won't give us a room? I'm very sure our prospective employers wouldn't like hearing this... unique establishment refused us service on account of one of our members not quite fitting your idea of a goodhearted adventurer." The scowling human just turned his head, coughed up a wad of phlegm, and spat,

"You got one room, merchant class." Cairn nodded, less than what he'd hoped for, more than he expected,

"Don't expect full price, then." the mercenary leader advised, heading back to the party. Tarathiel was silent, as usual, Arlin was still in his fine mood, swearing up a storm and a half, Zarra was covering her ears, and Jena seemed nearly ready to slap the sorcerer herself. The fey'ri could sympathize, "Arlin, shut up. Jena, calm down. Zarra, you okay?" The rogue nodded some, and playfully slapped Arlin on the back of his head,

"Idiot. If you keep that up, you'll be the reason we won't get rooms, not me." The human had nothing to say to that, so he just grinned his lazy grin and shrugged, before gathering his and Zarra's bags,

"I'll go unload our stuff. Tarathiel, why not look into getting those supplies now?" The elf nodded and gathered up Ayuvir, before leaving the inn. Cairn shook his head and picked up his own bags,

"You girls go on and kill some time, we're not supposed to meet our contact for another hour and a half. When the sun hits midday, go find Tarathiel and we'll all meet up at the Elfsong." The two nodded, and Cairn left the inn, stretching some and looking left, then right. _Weapon shops to the left… hey. Is that "Arcana Miscellani?" I guess they really did get a bigger place,_ the fighter mused, heading over towards the store. Once inside, the fey'ri was assaulted by all manner of smells, both pleasant and those he'd have gone on living just fine if he hadn't caught a whiff of them.

The young woman behind the counter was a shapely, toned brunette with long hair done in a popular style, combed to the side and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her 'robes' were more like a low-cut tunic with shoulders, sleeves and a bare midriff, and skirts with a slit high up one side. She wore little makeup, letting her natural beauty slip through. The half-elf grinned to Cairn, "Hey Chief." She purred, slipping from behind the counter to lean against him, gazing up at him with one striking orange eye, serpentine pupils narrowing slightly in anticipation, "Here for business or pleasure?"

"It's business this time, Ariana. I need any resources you have on demons… well, anything I can read in public without getting Lathander's clergy on me." Ariana laughed softly, a bubbling sound, her one remaining eye sparkling with amusement,

"You're horrible. Luckily for you, you're the love of my life."

"You mean the object of your drifting nighttime thoughts."

"Same difference, Chief. At any rate, I found a few books that won't earn you _too_ many strange looks." The shopowner handed over two heavy-looking volumes, which the fighter easily lifted. Cairn sat up on the counter, and opened up one of them, leafing through the pages,

"And what language is this in, again?" Ariana blinked,

"You can't read Abyssal?"

"I can speak it, but I was raised unaware they had that particular language in a written alphabet. Maybe Arlin can read it, Tymora knows he knows stranger tongues. Do you have any bags of holding or other such magic bags?" The store mistress nodded and slipped off into the back room, returning shortly with two large bags and one smaller bag,

"Two nonmagical bags, and the smaller one's a bag of holding. Special price for you, thirty platinum coins and one item of minor enchantment." The fey'ri grinned, she was basically asking for the price of one bag plus the magical bag. Well, he'd certainly been charged worse, so the fighter just shrugged, opened up his traveling bag, and dug around,

"I can give you two daggers, one which cuts through metal like a hot knife through butter and another which glows brightly at night, and a short sword with some less-than-wholesome qualities. Will that do instead?" he asks, holding out the three weapons and their ornate sheaths. Ariana nodded and held out her hands, then set up the weapons on the back shelf, while Cairn began sliding the old tomes carefully into the enchanted bag, along with the two mundane rucksacks.

Tarathiel had chosen to go to a less-exotic shop, promptly turning the weapons vendor's offers down for Ayuvir, "It's not for sale. Now, might you be willing to show me some of your other wares?" The elderly dwarf just grumbled a little, but began setting out various weapons onto the bartering table, explaining the materials used in each, as well as any applicable enchantments. The elf's interest was piqued momentarily when the vendor introduced him to a cold iron longsword specially crafted for left-handed wielders, a weapon that could emit bright light upon command and dealt even more damage to those of demonic blood than the norm. However, the fighter realized he lacked his race's usual aptitude for learning to wield two weapons at once, and Tarathiel reluctantly asked the dwarf to continue. The vendor showed a heavy crossbow, a lovely item,

"Aye, aye, an' this beauty's made o' darkwood, so's it is, and gots a dragon's whisker for a string. Always resets itself, and don't never need no ammunition, just makes its own." Tarathiel nodded,

"Please, set that one aside. Would you mind showing me any daggers or rapiers?" The vendor grinned, and reached into a nearby crate, pulling forth what the elf could only describe as the most beautiful rapier he had ever seen. The fighter's eyes traveled the length of the slender mithral blade, to the ornate mithral basket handguard, and finally to the stunning rubies set into the pommel, in the shape of a crescent moon. _Oh, wouldn't Zarra just die over this?_ Tarathiel thought, "Ah, how much for that rapier? I'm afraid I'll have to pass on the crossbow." The dwarf nodded,

"Awright thin. Ye give me a hunnert pieces 'n she's yers." Tarathiel grinned this time, and began haggling the price down.

Arlin sat alone in the dark room he'd rented for himself, a nobleman's room. His thoughts were a black vortex, his gaze narrowed and hard. _Sure, big noble half-breed Cairn gets to do all the important research… 'Arlin, go unpack the bags you idiot.' I'll idiot you, demon-boy._ The sorcerer suddenly stood up, and shouted, "I hate you!" at the top of his lungs, his thin form shaking and his face beet-red with fury. He had done so much for the party, and none of them showed him any appreciation. It was always, 'Arlin, do this.' 'Arlin, do that.' 'Arlin, what did you do?' 'Arlin, you imbecile!' A sneer crossed the wiry human's face, "If they won't appreciate me for the work I've done for them… fine. They can do it without me, I'm sure great leader Cairn can find a replacement… maybe that half-elf whore he likes to visit so often while he's here." _Yes,_ the sorcerer decided silently, _I'll just see how far they get without Arlin Erigo._

((I wonder… did anyone catch the minor reference to _The Last Dragonlord_ by Joanne Bertin in chapter 1? Oh, and I'm almost sure you'll find the reference to Philip Athans' novels based on _Baldur's Gate _and_ Baldur's Gate II: Shadows of Amn_ ))


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